


The Morning Star

by Artyphex



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fake Character Death, M/M, Pirates, Pirates vs Sailors, Powerful, Swordfighting, This is not an explicit fic at all but the Bottom Crowley energy is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artyphex/pseuds/Artyphex
Summary: Crowley had been killed at sea three years ago, and Aziraphale has vowed to ensure no one is harmed on those waters again.





	The Morning Star

Crowley had been killed three years ago and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to worry. 

It was easier at sea. There was always something to do on a ship. Busy the mind. Aziraphale had proved to be  _ very  _ good at celestial navigation and had landed himself a pretty position on a vessel of the British Royal Navy. He could be found by day in his cabin, scribbling writings down in his journals or drawing maps of the stars. At night, he was on the deck, staring into the stars. Aziraphale was well-liked on the ship, for his general demeanor seemed to put people in a good mood, but the sailors would admit to being a little unsettled by the way Aziraphale looked at the stars. He gave them the same gaze they gave the shores of England. 

Of course, he wasn’t doing any of those things right now, as it was around dawn and he was fighting for his life. 

He hid behind a large pile of boxes on the deck, catching his breath, Around him, men screamed and shouted and clashed at each other with swords. Occasionally, somewhere down the ship, a gun would fire and miss. 

Aziraphale’s own blade was a rapier he held tight to his chest. It was finely crafted, long and needle-like, ideal for stabbing, and bloodless. Aziraphale had silently decreed no one would be harmed in these waters. 

As he hid behind the boxes and caught his breath, Aziraphale wondered if this was how Crowley had felt. 

\---

Crowley had invited Aziraphale to India on the patio of his favorite coffee house. 

“Hell asked me to head over there,” he’d said, “Tempt some soldiers. Cause some riots. Usual demonic activity.” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, sipping a cup of devilishly sweet tea. “So you’d like me to do your job while you run around and have fun is it?” 

“No!” Crowley said, sounding genuinely offended at the idea. “Just thought you’d want to come along. Lots of great history in India. Taj Mahal.” 

“And England is wiping it all out,” he placed his teacup back on its saucer. “It’s not a place for me, dear.” 

Crowley leaned judgmentally in his chair, one eyebrow raised. “Really?  _ You’re  _ going to judge England?” 

“You can love something and still acknowledge its flaws, Crowley.” 

At this, Crowley snorted. 

“Isn’t that all the  _ more  _ reason for you to go?” Crowley said, “Spread your _ angelic harmony _ across the land?”

“And it would only be for you to contradict it with your demonic influence,” Aziraphale said, picking up a chocolate frosted pastry beside his teacup.

Crowley stared at him, tilting his head inquisitively. “Why do you  _ really  _ not want to go to India?” 

“I’ve told you.” He took a dainty bite from his pastry. 

“No you haven’t,” Crowley said. Smiling the smile he had when the angel was pinned in a corner. 

Aziraphale sighed, finishing his snack while Crowley watched and waited patiently. He wiped his fingers and lips with a cloth napkin, before finally saying, “I don’t like ships.” 

Crowley looked baffled. He blinked and squinted and moved his hands the way people do when severely underwhelmed by a response. “Why not?”

“Ships are… uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said. 

“Uncomfortable?” 

“They’re  _ compact, _ ” the angel explained. “There’s no way I could take everything I need.” 

“What all do you  _ need,  _ angel?” 

“My clothes for a start!” Aziraphale began, counting his fingers as he thought up his suitcase. “Some reading material for the voyage, as well as some for when we arrive in India-” 

“Satan’s sake, Aziraphale, it’s not like we’d never be back!” Crowley said, “And they have books there.” 

“My Hindi is terrible.” 

“Oh, that’s  _ rubbish. _ ” 

“It is!” He picked up his teacup, liquid in it growing warm again at his touch. “Why do you want me to come so badly anyway?” 

Aziraphale remembered Crowley going still, then, brows furrowing. As if he did not expect the question to be asked when the answer was very obvious. 

The pause of Crowley’s confusion lasted for a while, occasionally Crowley would open his mouth to make sounds like  _ “I-” “Ah-” “We-”  _ until finally, he said, “When was the last time we’d gone someplace together?” 

Aziraphale paused mid-sip of his tea, looking at Crowley over the brim of the cup. “Oh,” he said, “Well, we can go someplace when you get back.”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t know when I’ll  _ be  _ back, angel.”

“That’s alright, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “I can wait.”

Crowley had stared at Aziraphale for a moment longer and then dropped his head in a solemn nod. Muttering a faint  _ alright. _

His ship left a few days after that conversation at the coffeehouse, between which he and Aziraphale did not see much of each other. Aziraphale was there when Crowley’s ship left port. The demon had leaned over the rail of the vessel, waving and already holding a mug of some sort of horrific sailor brew. Aziraphale had smiled and waved back, and stood there until the ship vanished in the line of the horizon. 

Crowley’s ship was called  _ the Calypso.  _ She was grand, she was beautiful, and she never saw the shores of India. 

\---

Aziraphale sat behind the boxes and thought about his plan.

He didn’t have one. This was the main issue. 

A bullet hit a crate just beside his head with a horrific  _ crack,  _ showering him in splinters. 

Aziraphale stood and moved from behind the boxes, brushing the splinters off the sleeves of his coat. As he stood there, fixing his uniform, for it was a very expensive uniform, a pirate came running at him. Swiping down at Aziraphale with a curved steel blade. 

Aziraphale caught the bulky blade with the needle-like one of his rapier. “You’ve been fighting for an awfully long while haven’t you?”

He was looking into the eyes of the pirate. He was young, his face still dotted with pimples. His eyes widened in boyish confusion. “What?” 

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a good, long sleep?” Aziraphale said. 

The boy shook his head before scrunching his face and baring his teeth in an attempt at an outlaw’s snarl. “Crazy old-” 

_ “Sleep.”  _

The boy fell to Aziraphale’s feet and began to snore. 

He muttered a prayer for him, and gingerly stepped over his body, looking out onto the deck of the military ship, that was currently filled with pirates.

The ship Aziraphale was currently on was called  _ the Valkyrie,  _ she was part of the British Royal Navy, and she was to find pirates by command of the crown. She had technically done that, though it could be strongly argued the pirates found her first. 

The pirates themselves had come off an impressively large vessel that sailed beside  _ the Valkyrie,  _ she flew a flag of a red sun, and was called  _ the Morning Star.  _

Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty upon seeing that  _ the Star _ was the attacker. It seemed a little miraculous as had wanted to find her and her crew for a while now. It was likely that he had unconsciously drawn her to  _ the Valkyrie.  _ He could hardly be blamed however, after all, they killed Crowley. 

Crowley was not  _ dead  _ in the mortal way. He would be back. It would be soon. 

There were a few things about Crowley’s death that bothered Aziraphale. The first was the thought of Crowley in the process of dying. 

Not dying in the mortal way did not mean either of them did not feel pain in the mortal way. Their bodies were as earthly as any mortal’s, even if they lasted longer. If Crowley drowned, he felt himself drowning. There was an image of Crowley in Aziraphale’s head. Struggling against the water. Eyes and throat stinging from salt. Aziraphale had tried to push it from his mind, but it had a habit of returning in quiet moments. Aziraphale, as grizzly as it was, hoped the man who’d said Crowley was shot was correct- it was faster.

The second was Crowley had not returned. 

Hell was laxer with the handing out of a new body. In Heaven, there were lectures, paperwork, and in another three hundred years, long powerpoint presentations. Aziraphale would be lucky to return to earth in the decade. This was not Aziraphale’s estimate, he had experience on both points: Crowley returns in a year, Aziraphale in ten. 

Aziraphale liked to think he had patience, so he waited like a widow. Crowley did not return. 

He stared at the flag of the ship. The red sun. Every survivor off the  _ Calpyso  _ had said they knew they were doomed when they saw the red sun.

It was not revenge Aziraphale wanted. Angels never desire revenge, only judgment, and justice. All Aziraphale wanted was to ensure no one was harmed by these pirates again. 

Yet, he was very aware of the rapier in his hands. 

He knew what he wanted was an  _ idea  _ but not a  _ plan,  _ but now that the pirates of _ the Morning Star _ were here- it would have to do. 

Somewhere near him, two swords clashed loud enough to make him flinch. 

Two men, one dressed in a matching but slightly less pristine uniform to Aziraphale, and the other in a loose blouse and patched-up pants. They fought fiercely, and the man in the uniform kept reaching for a chain of gold in the other man’s hand whenever he could. 

“You’re both doing very well,” Aziraphale said.

The men paid him no mind, continuing their duel. The blades sparked when they met. 

“So well,” Aziraphale said, “That you deserve a break, don't you think?” 

The men slowed their dueling dance. Both looking suddenly distracted. 

“There you go,” Aziraphale continued, “Why not head back to your cabins and take a nice rest?” 

The men slowly stopped, lowering their blades, and nodding to themselves. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Why don’t you,” he said to the man in the blouse, “Give that back, and head back to your ship?” 

The man looked at Aziraphale, a peaceful sort of exhaustion in his eyes, and nodded his head. He stepped forward, handed the man the gold chain, and wandered away. Dropping his sword as he did. 

Aziraphale placed a hand on the uniformed man’s shoulder. On the chain was a locket, open to a picture of a woman. 

“Oh, she is beautiful,” said Aziraphale, “You will see her soon, dear boy.” 

The man smiled at that. A bright and hopeful smile. He turned on his heels, and calmly walked below deck, avoiding the blades and bullets around him. 

Aziraphale began to walk across the deck of  _ the Valkyrie.  _

Across from him, a man fired his gun, only to have nothing happen.  _ Oh, that’s a problem,  _ said a voice in his head.  _ Needs looking at. Why not go down and fix it?  _

The man looked at his gun and felt a very strong need to figure out the problem. He ran, truly  _ ran  _ below deck. To his cabin. Where he could fiddle with the weapon until it worked properly again.

Behind him, a pirate had his sword knocked from his hand. The soldier who disarmed him holding his blade to his throat.  _ He’s defeated don’t you think?  _ Something told him.  _ You’re a man of honor. No need for bloodshed.  _

The soldier lowered his blade and walked away. Leaving the pirate empty-handed and thoroughly baffled.

_ Now’s your chance.  _ He was urged.  _ Run! _

The pirate ran as fast as he could, across the deck and back to  _ the Morning Star.  _

Aziraphale felt pleased with himself. Yes, this would do. It wasn’t the  _ flashiest  _ way of getting things done and yes it was  _ dangerously  _ close to temptation- but he was saving these people. Actively avoiding conflict. What could Heaven say? 

Across from him, Aziraphale spotted a pirate. 

At least, he assumed he was a pirate. He hadn’t seen anyone like him on  _ the Valkyrie.  _ He would admit, however, that he was a very well-dressed pirate. In a long, dramatic black coat, leather black gloves, large black hat. Quite a lot of black really must be awfully hot in the sea sun. There was a bit of color shining against all the black. The man’s long and braided hair. Red. Blood red. As red as the sun on the flag of  _ the Morning Star. _

“Well,” Aziraphale called at the man. “You certainly look important.”

The Captain of  _ the Morning Star  _ turned to face him.

He  _ was  _ the captain after all. Had to be. He had thus far been commanding the pirates raiding  _ the Valkyrie  _ and he now watched them run, or sometimes calmly walk, back to their ship. 

“How’s this going for you?” Aziraphale said, “Might be time to head off, don’t you think?”

The Captain of  _ the Morning Star  _ stared at Aziraphale, who smiled at him. Any moment now, he would call off the remaining pirates and board  _ the Star  _ and sail off. Then, later, he would decide he’d had enough of piracy for one lifetime and declare he had retired. Giving  _ the Morning Star  _ a peaceful end and giving Aziraphale a story that would greatly irritate his demon when he returned. 

That did not happen.

What did happen was the captain drawing his sword, a gleaming flamberge rapier, and charging, blade ready, at Aziraphale.

The angel’s eyes widened in shock, he held up his rapier, and the two blades met with a shower of sparks. 

“I-” Aziraphale began, “I  _ really  _ think you-”

Their blades parted for a moment, before slashing into each other once again. The sound of metal on metal deafening. 

“Please, it’s time to  _ rest  _ now,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his voice angelically calm. 

The man wore a cloth mask around his eyes, a thin film over the eyes themselves, making them impossible to see. He smiled when Aziraphale spoke. 

He swung around, striking at Aziraphale from the side. There was another resounding  _ clang  _ as Aziraphale blocked the blow. They began to get into a rhythm in their fencing. Aziraphale continuously trying to speak between blows. 

“Really it  _ is  _ time-”  _ Clang _ . “To swallow our pride-”  _ Clang _ . “Put down our weapons and-”  _ Clang _ .

Aziraphale pressed their blades together as hard as he could. Sparks streaking off the metal as he leaned as close to the Captain of  _ the Morning Star  _ as he could. The blades forming a thin X between them. 

Aziraphale looked him in his film covered eyes. Sweating and panting he gasped,  _ “Get on the bloody ship!” _

The Captain of  _ the Morning Star  _ smiled. A forked tongue flicked from between his lips, coming dangerously close to Aziraphale’s own.

“Come on, angel, just a bit longer.” 

Aziraphale stared at the man.

It all suddenly seemed to fall into place. It felt like realizing what a drawing is supposed to depict. Instant recognition, and wonder of how Aziraphale could have  _ ever  _ not seen it at first glance. The black clothes. The covered eyes. The red hair. The cheekbones. Aziraphale felt deeply embarrassed that it was, of all these things, the  _ tongue  _ that had finally made it all click together. 

_ "Crowley!”  _

Crowley lept back. Holding his blade straight out, challenging Aziraphale to a  _ proper  _ duel now. “Never took you for the seafaring type.” 

Aziraphale responded, striking his blade against Crowley’s. This time, he did not hear the sound of metal on metal. “You’re dead!”

“I think I would’ve noticed,” Crowley said, striking and sliding his blade across Aziraphale’s. Deliberately creating a shower of sparks. 

Aziraphale lunged at Crowley, the demon barely striking his blade aside in time. “You’re supposed to be  _ dead!” _

Crowley responded with feigned irritation. “Don’t sound so disappointed!” 

Whatever men hadn’t yet been  _ persuaded  _ into dropping their weapons and heading back to the hauls of their respective ships, had now dropped their weapons and watched the duel before them. Each man moved so quickly he blurred into a flash of red and black or blue and white. Each blow blocked in  _ perfect  _ timing before landing on its target. 

The truth is, if either Aziraphale or Crowley wanted the other discorporated, he would be by now. They were using the duel as an excuse to talk.

“Where have you  _ been?”  _ Aziraphale demanded, ducking beneath a swipe of Crowley’s rapier.

Crowley stepped to the side, avoiding Aziraphale retaliating blow. “Plundering the high seas, where else?”

“What happened to India?” Aziraphale said, clashing their blades together once more. The men in the crowd were starting to take bets. 

“Never made it!” Circling and striking at Aziraphale, who caught the blow just beside his head. Some of the men in the crowd cheered. 

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, keeping their blades together as he did. “You never thought to send me a note?” 

“Why would I do that?” Crowley said, flicking the tip of his rapier against Aziraphale’s. 

He held his sword steady. “I don’t know, maybe to let me know you  _ hadn’t  _ been discorporated by pirates?”

Crowley tilted his head. “What? You  _ really  _ thought I went down with the ship?” He clashed the swords together in an almost playful manner. 

There was a moment then. A moment where Aziraphale’s chest filled with hot, holy fire. He clenched his teeth. Swung out, and with all his might he knocked Crowley’s sword from his hand. 

The blade skidded across  _ the Valkyrie’s  _ deck. The crowd of men jumping back as the blade passed, coming to a stop as it slammed into the rail of the ship. Aziraphale flicked the tip of his blade to Crowley’s throat. 

_ “Yes!”  _

The sea went still.

The men, pirates and sailors alike, watched with intent. Ready for a bloody scene. Somewhere in the crowd, a sound of coins exchanging hands could be heard. 

Crowley swallowed. His throat bobbing against the tip of Aziraphale’s sword. He cautiously raised his hands, palms open. Lowering himself until he knelt on the deck. Aziraphale’s blade never leaving his throat. 

“Angel…” 

“Get on your ship, Crowley.”

Aziraphale sheathed his sword and turned his back on the demon.

\---

Aziraphale’s cabin on  _ the Valkyrie  _ was one of the nicer ones. That did not change the fact that it was- indeed- compact. 

It had a desk and a bed, along with a small table, and the rest of the space was taken up by Aziraphale’s various bags. There was a book on every free surface, and the walls were covered in maps of the stars Aziraphale had drawn himself.

Night had fallen, Aziraphale had not stayed to watch and make sure  _ the Morning Star _ sailed off. He’d retreated to his little cabin to lay on his bed and feel like a complete fool.

He stared at the ceiling of the cabin, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was covering his face with his hands. Trying to hide in his own embarrassment. Of  _ course,  _ Crowley hadn’t  _ actually  _ been discorporated. Of  _ course,  _ he’d gone off and joined the pirates that took  _ Calypso _ . That was a very  _ Crowley  _ thing to do. Aziraphale had just been so certain that Crowley would have sent him a message, told him that he was alright. He wouldn’t have even expected it to say much, just a few lines saying something like,  _ “Sailing the high seas now, angel. Not dead at the bottom of the ocean.”  _

Aziraphale covered his face with his hands and groaned. 

“If you’re waiting for me to speak to you,” Aziraphale said, his voice muffled by his hands. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

Crowley had not been in the room when Aziraphale first entered, but he had appeared not long after. Sitting in the little desk chair, facing Aziraphale on the bed, and waiting for him to say something. 

He’d taken off most of his captain look, his hat, mask, even his long black coat. He sat in a grey blouse and black pants, though he was still wearing the snakeskin knee-high boots. 

He kept fiddling with his braid, taking it out and weaving it back together when Aziraphale refused to speak to him. He was in the middle of his fourth iteration of the braid. 

“What do you want me to say?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, removing his hands from his face. “It’s not my job to speak for you.” 

Crowley said nothing. He finished his braid, a complex fishtail pattern, and ran his fingers through it again, breaking it up into long strands of red curls.

Aziraphale sighed. “Were you ever killed?” 

“No,” Crowley said, “Pirates fished me out of the sea, gave me the ‘join or die’ speech and after a while, I convinced the captain to retire. Crew never said a thing.”

“Was that your plan all along?” 

“No!” Crowley let go of his hair finally. “My plan was to wreak havoc in India! The pirates were just convenient.’

Aziraphale turned his head away from him. “I can’t believe you let me think you were discorporated.” 

“I thought you would have known-”

“ _ I didn’t know! _ ” 

Aziraphale sat up in bed, finally turning to Crowley. Who seemed to coil in on himself like a frightened, guilty snake.

“I didn’t know…” Aziraphale continued, his tone softening. “You didn’t come back, Crowley. The thought of why you may be detained-” He paused, and he looked at Crowley for a long time. “It frightened me.”

Aziraphale had been afraid of Crowley once. When he’d first met him on the walls of Eden. He was “The Serpent” in his mind then. That was not the fear he felt now. 

Crowley blinked. “Well,” he began, “I’m sorry.” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed. Nodding his head. “Well,” He said, “I forgive you.”

There was a pause. The kind of awkward, tense pause that forms in the air when no one knows what to say next.

“So what now?” Crowley said next.

“I go back to England,” Aziraphale said, “No more need to stay on this ship. I was thinking about opening a bookshop. What about you?” 

“Think I’ll sail the high seas a bit more,” Crowley said, “It’s fun when you get used to it.” 

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile. “Do try not to get into too much trouble,” he said, his voice a whisper. 

Crowley nodded. They sat for a moment as the ship rocked. Neither really wants to move. 

“I  _ am  _ still expected in India,” Crowley began, “Eventually.” 

“You’d better get to that, then,” Aziraphale responded. 

Crowley nodded. “I should,” he said, “Be a few years behind. Mean a great deal if I had some help.” 

Aziraphale stared at him.

“Hear the food there is excellent,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I’ve had enough ships.” 

There was a sound like a  _ whoosh,  _ followed by the clatter of books and pens being pushed off surfaces and paper being brushed off the walls by enormous black wings the tiny cabin really wasn’t built to accommodate.

“You know,” Aziraphale said, “If you had suggested that outright, we could have avoided all this.” 

Crowley smiled. 

Aziraphale shook his head in faux disapproval. “You devil.” 

He took his hand. 

“Don’t worry,” Crowley said, “I’ll have you back by morning.” 

\---

In haul of  _ the Morning Star,  _ a very withered man awoke in his cabin. It was a fine cabin, decorated with silk and treasure and all sorts of prizes from  _ the Star’s  _ time at sea. The withered man was the captain of  _ the Star _ and always has been, but as he woke, his bones ached with the wood of the haul. He was realizing just how old he had gotten.

In the haul of  _ the Valkyrie,  _ a skinny, nervous man in a nice but compact cabin was drawing out maps of the stars. It was his duty as the navigator of  _ the Valkyrie.  _ He had been doing so since the ship left port, and would be doing so until she landed. The man was realizing just how tired he was, and how the stars looked nothing like England’s shores. 

At some point in the night, both men would look out their porthole window, and they would see the same thing. 

They would see what could only be described as wings, though they belonged to no seabird either man had ever seen. One set would be so black it seemed to swallow the stars at it flew, the other so white it could replace the moon. The wings would be keeping close to each other, swirling and diving after the other in a way that could be described as dancing. Or, if one prefers, playing.

Both men would watch the wings until they vanished into the line where stars met sea, and both men would remember them as a dream come morning. When the Captain of  _ the Morning Star  _ would announce his retirement and the navigator of  _ the Valkyrie  _ would announce the next path he charted would be towards home. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Pirates of the Carribean theme plays in the background*
> 
> Part 2 of the Vaguely Erotic Historical Ineffable Husbands unofficial series. This one from a suggested time period.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please consider sharing it on tumblr! https://heimurinn.tumblr.com/post/187433765725/crowley-had-been-killed-three-years-ago-and


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